Oh, certainly they were good lines. The fortune teller. The mahjong tile. The laughter. The seed, the toy, the slow flutter of hot breath and the dying pulse against tightening hands.
Chin Isou looked into Cho Gonou's eyes -- so beautifully hating, so clear, so utterly fixed on him -- and wondered about puppets and stories and punishments, as Gonou ripped the life out of him and let him fall to dust.
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